


Not a Shrink, a Therapist

by coulsonbaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Sabriel - Freeform, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coulsonbaby/pseuds/coulsonbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a psychiatrist, and sometimes it's hard to be friends with a psychiatrist. But honestly Dean kind of wants to try it out (even if he'll never admit it) because he knows he needs help (even if he'll never admit it) and, honestly, the guy is kind of cute (even if he'll never admit it).</p>
<p>And, in the end, Castiel does help Dean. And Dean doesn't need to ask, didn't even think to. And Castiel didn't think about it either. Some things just happen sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Shrink, a Therapist

**Author's Note:**

> So my summer project is Destiel fanfiction. I have 12 set up to write, and have promised myself to finish them all. There will also be extras that I come up with along the way. This isn't beta'd, none of them will probably be. They are for writing exercises and for making myself happy due to fangirl reasons.

“Look, Sammy, I wanna meet your boyfriend and all but-”

“Dean, I'm straight. I have a girlfriend. Gabriel is a friend from work, and we're getting together for drinks tonight, and I figured you'd like to meet him.”

Dean threw his feet up on the coffee table and raised an eyebrow at his little brother. “So you want my approval. Aw, come on- don't give me that look man, I'm just messing with you. Yeah, I'll come. But first round's on you.”

Sam's eyes reflexively rolled as he sighed with exasperation. “Whatever. Just don't be late.”

–

Dean was late. Seven minutes and forty-six seconds late, according to Sam who had apparently been seriously when he expected Dean to show up on time. It's not like it mattered anyway- the guy wasn't even there yet so what harm was done?

So Sam bought Dean a beer and they drank, Sam becoming more and more restless as more and more time passed. It was not until precisely nine thirty-eight, according to Sam's watch, that Gabriel walked through the door.

At least, Dean assumed it was Gabriel, as Sam leapt from his seat and “walked” over to meet the man the second he saw him. The guy had long hair and was really short, and Dean honestly couldn't see anything appealing about him in the least. The two shared an awkward handshake, spoke for a moment, then began to walk back over to Dean. There was a man in a trenchcoat trudging forlornly behind them.

“Dean,” Sam said as the approached, “this is Gabriel. Gabriel, Dean.”

Dean set down his drink and extended a hand to the guy. He was wearing a V-neck shirt. “Sup, man?” Dean asked.

“Hi,” Gabriel said, ignoring Dean's hand and sitting down next to him. “Bartender!” He called, waving a hand at the man behind the counter. He then proceeded to order a Strawberry Daiquiri. When he finished ordering, he turned back to Dean and jutted a thumb over his shoulder at the man who was standing a few feet behind them. “That cat back there is my little brother. Say hi, Cassie.”

“Cassie?” Dean asked the man incredulously.

The man approached the group reluctantly. “My name is Castiel.” He muttered in a gravely voice, either to Dean, or Gabriel, or no-one in particular. He sat down on the other side of Dean and looked up to Sam. “I'm sorry I am in an unpleasant mood. I had a rough day at work. Please excuse me and do not tell any of my clients that I am turning to alcohol for relief.” He waved over the bartender, who took his order and asked Dean if he wanted another beer. He did.

Sam to a seat next to his friend-from-work and they began to talk about what Dean assumed was a work-related topic. Castiel sat on the other side of him nursing a scotch and soda, and Dean was on his third beer and in need of relief from the constant giggling coming from his right.

So he turned to Castiel and stared at him for a moment, trying to come up with something to say. 

“Yes?”

Dean started. “Huh?” he asked, realising that Castiel had noticed his staring, and was looking at him suspicously. “Oh, sorry, I zoned out, didn't mean to stare or anything.”

Castiel shrugged. “It is fine, I get that a lot.”

“Right...” Dean coughed. “So, uh, clients, huh? What do you do? For work, that is.”

Castiel paused before answering, and he did so cautiously. “I am a psychiatrist,” he said.

Dean blinked in surprise. “You're a shrink?” he asked, not meaning to sound as accusing as he did.

“No, I'm a psychiatrist.”

Castiel turned back to drink and Dean coughed uncomfortably. “Right, sorry. That was rude, I bet you get that a lot.” 

Castiel sighed deeply and turned back to Dean. “Yes, I do. I'm sorry if I'm blunt, I have not had a pleasant day and it seems to have effected me.”

Dean's eyes darted to his brother, who was still flirting with the short guy. He usually didn't try to make a habit of asking shrinks about how bad their days were, but hell. It was better than watching the disgusting show on his other side. “If you don't mind my asking, what happened?”

“I'm technically not to share personal information about my clients- Dean, is it?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, Dean,” Castiel continued, “I'm really not allowed to talk about what happens in my sessions. It's really quite unfair to the patients.”

Dean shrugged. “Be vague.”

Castiel stared at him for a moment, then nodded. He ordered another scotch and started to talk. A patient had tried to kill themselves that day, and Castiel had gotten a distressed call from the man from a rooftop. He had hopped in his car and driven to the building, climbed the stairs, and tried to talk the man down. But he had jumped, and Castiel had seen him hit the pavement. The man had survived, was in ICU, and Castiel held himself responsible for what had happened. Dean listened attentively, and nodded along when appropriate. And when that story was over, the conversation moved forward to other topics until both men were talking openly (and not to mention drunkenly) about just about anything at all. There was lots of laughter, and plenty of stares, and at some point the bartender took their keys. It wasn't until last call that the two noticed their brothers weren't there. The bartender said, “The short one and the tall one?” and, “Yeah, they left over an hour and a half ago,” and called the two a cab.

Somehow Dean managed to utter his address, stumble up the stairs, put the key in the lock, and get halfway onto his couch before he passed out.


End file.
